


Poe Dameron's Wife

by zivaballerina



Series: Poe Dameron's Wife [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-07-25 14:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zivaballerina/pseuds/zivaballerina
Summary: "It’s been thirty seconds since she found out and a part of Aviya wants to launch herself into a suicide mission, take out a few of the First Order along with herself because what is the point without him, honestly."--A short retelling of the beginning of The Force Awakens--through the eyes of Commander Aviya Dameron: Resistance spy, wife.--[A Collection]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay honestly I found this on my computer while working on something else and it's complete and semi-decent, so I figured, why not? I hope you enjoy!

It’s late when they knock on her door, but she isn’t sleeping—she won’t admit it, but she spends most of the nights without him lying on his side of the bed, rubbing her fingers on the collar of his shirt she’s wearing, worrying about him and about the Resistance.

She knows that it has to be bad news if they’re coming in the night, knocking on the door of their quarters carved into the planet, sparse and functional and not the home a young girl would have imagined to be living in with her husband—but quarters for two military officers who happen to be married to each other.

Briefly, she considers not answering the door, just ignoring them, like that would make whatever they had to say go away. But she stands, pulling her dark hair away from her face and taking a deep breath, willing her heart to stop pounding because even though she knows there is only one thing they could be telling her, she knows it’s going to knock the wind out of her.

“General,” she says in surprise as she opens the door—she didn’t imagine that Leia Organa herself would come to deliver this news—but on the other hand, the older woman did seem to care about her, or at least her role in the resistance. Or at least she cares about Poe. 

“Aviya,” she says, and the sadness is evident in her voice.

“So this is it then?” she asks as she closes the door.

Leia pulls two chairs out from under the table, like it’s her own home she’s in, gesturing maternally for Aviya to sit down.

“I know that’s the only reason you’d be here in the middle of the night,” Aviya says stubbornly, all feigned bravado as she sits down and crosses her arms like maybe she could hide her shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Leia says, pain tinging her voice.

Aviya ignores her. “And the plans?”

Leia shrugs. “We don’t know yet.”

“BB-8?”

“He’s missing.”

“Okay,” Aviya says sadly, wishing for the familiar comfort of the droid’s beeps and chirps. She leans back in her chair, taking a few measured breaths.

“I could make you some tea, or I could leave you alone,” Leia offers.

“Alone, please,” Aviya requests. General Organa can be warm and caring, but she is the leader of the Resistance and Aviya is one of its officers, and she wants to maintain some shred of dignity—even if Leia, and everyone else, knows what she will be doing the moment she is left alone.

Leia nods, standing. “I will not expect you to report for several days. Unless you need to.” She gives a small smile, meant to reassure. “I know how it is. I’ll see myself out.”

It’s been thirty seconds since she found out and a part of Aviya wants to launch herself into a suicide mission, take out a few of the First Order along with herself because what is the point without him, honestly.

She wonders what Poe would do, if the roles were reversed—if she were dead and he was still alive—and she really isn’t sure. Maybe he would crash his X-Wing into a Tie Fighter, maybe he would throw himself wholeheartedly into the Resistance, sleep and eat and breathe this war—because what else is there.

_She was seventeen when she met him, almost twenty and already one of the best pilots in the New Republic, all swagger and wide-eyed idealism. She was born to two Rebellion spies and has always moved quietly, observing. She’s drawn to him like a magnet, like a bug to a light._

_She was eighteen when he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead up against hers and swore that he loved her, and she could have melted right there into her boots._

_She was nineteen when they got married, flowers in her hair and spies and pilots alike whooping as they kissed._

For half a moment, she’s not even sure that she’s going to cry. After all, this outcome was always very likely. It feels like suddenly, something’s been carved out of her chest—her heart, maybe—and she just has this big, hollow hole threatening to swallow her right up. And it hurts—it actually physically _hurts_ from the inside, like something is clawing at the inside of her lungs—grief—and then it hits her, knocks her almost clear over and she can’t even breathe she’s sobbing so hard, can’t even care that those in nearby quarters can hear her scream like the wounded animal she is.

\--

It’s the middle of the night again—what can they have to tell her, again. There is nothing else to take away from her. Maybe they’re sending her away on a mission. Maybe she’ll never come back again. Maybe she can be a hero and then disappear from this feeling of being crushed all of the time.

It’s not the General this time, though, but two officers on night duty. They’re insistent that she come with them, this instant, not even letting her change, just stuffing her feet into boots and wishing that Poe had left his jacket for her to throw around her shoulders.

The officers are tight-lipped and they won’t tell her why she’s headed into the center of base, why she’s headed into the infirmary, and then, and then,

And then—

It’s Poe.

It's Poe, alive.

It's Poe, right there in front of her.

It’s Poe, sitting on the edge of a bed while medics whir around him, and he’s annoyed, because he just wants to see his wife.

And then he does, he sees her across the room, frozen still and barely breathing like maybe none of this is real, and he’s pushing the medics and their busy hands away from his wounds, just crosses the room to her in a few long strides, and he roughly pulls her to him, and she sobs into him like she’s finally breaking.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” he says, and he can’t keep his lips off of her—off of her hair, her forehead, her shoulders--can't stop moving his hands over her. “Gods, I was so afraid I would never see you again.”

“They told me you were dead,” she says quietly, muffled against his chest, and he presses his cheek to the top of her head, lets his fingertips dig into her waist and her shoulder and they both feel real.

“I should be. I really should be. It’s a hell of a story, Avi. But I’m—”

“You’re _here,_” she says, and it might be to reassure herself, might be to reassure him. She pulls away to look up at him, brushes her fingertips across a scratch on his cheek. “How?”

“We were asking the same question,” General Organa says from a corner of the room. “But he wouldn’t say anything until we got you.”

\--

“Are you sure you shouldn’t still be in the infirmary?” she asks, but she’s grinning wide like a schoolgirl with a crush, holding tight to his arm.

He shakes his head. “I want to be home. With you. That’s the way to heal me.”

\--

The nightmares are not new, not for either of them—this is a war they’ve been fighting, for a long time. But she can’t help but lie awake and watch him, terrified that if she sleeps she’ll wake up to find that this was all the dream of a grieving heart. She’s running her fingers through his hair when he starts to shake, when his face twists into a grimace of pain, when he cries out.

“Poe. Poe, darling. Baby. Love." The pet names spill from her lips like not being able to use them for weeks has made them stack up. "Poe,” she begs, shaking his shoulder.

His eyelids open and he sits up quickly, defensively.

“Ave,” he whispers on an exhale, his voice cracking like his mouth has gone dry.

“I’m here, honey,” she reassures, reaching for his hand. “You’re safe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long story and it’s not, but she’s too exhausted to tell it now, to answer his questions, to watch him pretend to be unshakable and not scared to death, the same way she is when he tells her about any of his missions. War is monotonous even in all of its near-cataclysmic events.
> 
> \--
> 
> Aviya returns from a mission, a little battered. Poe takes care of her. Pre-TFA, fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this got very little reaction, and instead of being like “clearly no one is interested in this” my dumb brain is like “what if i write more.” 
> 
> Turns out I really love this story, so I'm going to keep writing it.

Aviya slides the door open with a scan of her palm, shuffles into the dark quarters, puts her weapons down, flinching a little at the sound the metal makes against the table. Before she gets halfway across the room, BB-8 makes his way to her, chirping happily as he nudges her shin.

“Hey, buddy,” she whispers, bending down to affectionately pet his head. “Shhh.”

The bedside light flicks on suddenly, and Poe is rubbing sleep from his eyes, sitting up to look at her.

“Welcome home,” he greets—and it’s him who is her home, the broadness of his bare chest, his curly hair, his brown eyes, the way he makes her feel brave and safe all at once.

“Hi,” she sighs in an exhausted half-relief to see him.

She crosses the room to him, and he can see she’s favoring her right leg, limping gingerly.

“You’re hurt.” It’s a statement, not a question, the corners of his mouth turning down and his forehead creasing between his brows.

She waves him off, sitting on the bed next to him. “I just twisted my knee.”

“Your face—” he gently takes her chin, turning her to look at the angry red scrape across her cheek.

“I’m okay,” she reassures. “I just need a shower, and some sleep. And I missed you.”

She leans forward to kiss him, his lips soft and hot and familiar on hers, her right hand curling around the back of his neck, his warm skin an anchor. Something hot and comforting pools low in her belly and she could kiss him just like this, slow and steady, all night.

He pulls back, looking at her disapprovingly. “Don’t think I can’t tell you haven’t moved your left arm. Ribs?”

He sits all the way up, unfastening her jacket, watching her wince as he peels it off of her. He pulls her shirt out of her pants and lifts it up.

“_Fuck,_” he hisses at the large purple and blue bruises winding themselves around her side. “Did you get these checked out? Are they broken? Any internal injuries?”

“Poe.” She touches his bare shoulder, her face soft. “Just bruises and soreness. I promise.”

“Someone beat the shit out of you? What happened?”

“Unfortunate fall.”

“Aviya.”

_I’ve had worse,_ she almost wants to say, but that is never, never the right thing—not with the helpless way Poe is looking at her now, not when she will never forget the look on his face when she woke up in a hospital bed after, she was told, days of a machine breathing for her.

“I will tell you everything, I swear.”

It was three days of the usual hell—cooped up on a small ship and trying to go undetected and the predictable misery of running into the First Order. It’s a long story and it’s not, but she’s too exhausted to tell it now, to answer his questions, to watch him pretend to be unshakable and not scared to death, the same way she is when he tells her about any of his missions. War is monotonous even in all of its near-cataclysmic events.

She stretches her neck with a sigh. “I’m just so tired.” So tired she feels it in her bones, even as her skin begs her to touch his.

“Okay,” he acquiesces, climbing off of the bed to kneel in front of her. “Let’s get you out of these boots.”

He unfastens them, pulling them off slowly, pressing a kiss to the inside of each calf. She knows she smells, but she’s met Poe fresh out of a full day in a cockpit and he’s kissed her after she’s spent hours in combat training and they’re used to each other by now. She runs her fingers through his hair, down his cheek, glides her thumb over his lips.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” she says, because if she stays where she is, she’ll either fall asleep or fall into him—and she’s too dirty for the former, too tired for the latter. She grimaces as she stands, limping a few difficult steps before Poe stands up.

“Come here,” he says, and easily sweeps her into his arms, carrying her to the refresher.

He sets her down on the lid of the sani and turns the water on.

When he turns back around, her eyes are closed, her chin dipping toward her chest.

“Aves? You still with me?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, opening her eyes and reaching for the hem of her shirt.

“Let me,” he whispers, crouching in front of her, lifting her shirt up and over her arms and then her head, tossing it to the floor. He reaches behind her to unfasten her thick black compression bra, pressing a kiss to her collarbone in wordless apology as she inhales sharply at the pain it causes in her ribs.

“Did you sleep at all in the last three days?” he asks, looking at the purple half-moons under her dark eyes.

“It was a mission. How much sleep do you usually get?”

He shakes his head, taking her hands. “Up,” he commands, pulling her to her feet. He unfastens her belt and her pants, pushes them down so that she’s naked in front of him, and scans her closely for any injuries he hasn’t noted yet.

He pushes his own pants down then, wrapping an arm around her waist for the few steps into the ‘fresher.

“I don’t want you to overcompensate for that knee and slip and fall,” he explains, following her into the water.

“Poe,” she says quietly, as much as she doesn’t want to, and he shakes his head.

“I know. It’s just a shower.” He smiles, softly, and she could melt. “I know how much you like it when I wash your hair.”

He moves behind her, pulling the band off of the bottom of her braid and putting it around his wrist, untangling the braid with his fingers. His hands ghost over the smaller braids and their metal rings and she shakes her head.

“You can leave them for now.”

Under the water, with Poe’s large hands weaving through her hair and over her skin, massaging her scalp and shoulders, the tension she’s held in her muscles for the last three days starts to fade. Her eyes closing, she sways against him, and Poe holds her steady against the solidness of his chest.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he says. “I promise we’re almost done.”

He turns the water off, helping her out and onto the mat, and grabs two towels. He wraps one loosely around his waist, handing her the other.

“Here.” He sits her back down on the sani, rummaging in the cabinet for a moment. “Let me put some pain cream on your ribs and knee. And I’ll wrap that knee.”

He does so while she wrings some of the water out of her long hair with the towel.

“Okay.” He sits back, assessing his handiwork. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Oh, thank gods.”

He chuckles, lifting her easily again, carrying her into the next room, sitting her on the bed. He throws one of his worn t-shirts and a pair of underwear at her, stepping back into the bathroom to pull his pants back on. When he comes back, she’s laying on her back, and she stares at him, his naked chest and stomach and arms, his pants slung low on his hips, his damp hair clinging to him, and hums appreciatively.

“What?” he asks.

“I am admiring the view.”

He chuckles. “I thought you were too tired.”

“Never too tired to look.”

“Hmm.”

He crawls in bed next to her, pulling the blanket over them both. On his side, he hovers over her, pushing some of her hair out of her face.

“I missed you,” she slurs in a whisper, already slipping into the edges of sleep.

He plants kisses along her hairline, smiling. “I love you,” he whispers, and turns out the light.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was eighteen when he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead up against hers and swore that he loved her, and she could have melted right there into her boots.
> 
> \--
> 
> Poe and Aviya, young and desperately in love, take furlough to Naboo and to Yavin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is absolutely nothing but fluff and happiness—the rest of the chapters I’ve been working on (and the ones already posted) are…not. I hope that you enjoy a nice lengthy (fourteen pages…not sure if I should say I’m sorry or you’re welcome?) look at these two and part of their beginning!

_She was eighteen when he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead up against hers and swore that he loved her, and she could have melted right there into her boots._

\--

Her mother should be elated, she thinks. They had fought, so many times, despite her mother’s own service, over Aviya’s decision to join the Republic Navy instead of staying home and getting married and raising a family like her sisters. 

And here Aviya is, just a year later, barely eighteen, back on Naboo, with Poe Dameron in tow. 

Poe Dameron, twenty-one, Republic Navy pilot, who splits his time between flying among the stars and wrapping his warm, strong arms around Aviya when they come back to base at night. 

\--

The whole family is waiting for them as soon as they step off of the transport, and Aviya is grateful that she and Poe had changed—he had whistled in appreciation as she stepped out in her green dress, so used to seeing her day in and day out in her military fatigues.

They greet Aviya enthusiastically, and Poe politely. He greets her parents as “Lady and Captain Rimaro” and there’s a sort of gravity behind Iva and Tua Rimaro that makes Poe feel like he needs to stand at attention before them.

Aviya had been expecting—or, hoping—that her niece, Yanna, would run to her with shouts of “Tia!” but the toddler girl does not recognize her after a year away, and Aviya has never met baby Ro, son of her middle sister.

Laiyla and Rylan and Safiya and Zidan are pleasant and smiling, as sisters and brothers-in-law always are, and Zidan looks particularly excited to meet a man who is newer to the Rimaro family than he is, even after several years of marriage to Safiya, and now, a baby.

“He _is _handsome,” Laiyla says as the sisters huddle together.

“_Devilishly_ handsome,” Safiya winks. “That flyboy is going to get you in _trouble_, little bird.” 

(Sneaking into his room in the middle of the night is definitely going to get her in trouble with Mamá and Papá, but she sleepily presses her face into his chest and Poe sighs and quietly says, “Force, that’s good” in a voice rough with drowsiness and there is nothing Mamá and Papá could ever do that is bad enough to make her sleep without him.)

\--

At dinner, Aviya nudges Poe quietly to direct him to which silverware to use. He’s never seen so much at one meal before, and he’s grateful when one of the sisters starts to giggle and Aviya glares at her across the table.

“Your parents served the Rebellion?” Tua, Aviya’s father, asks.

Poe nods. “Dad was a Pathfinder; Mom was a pilot. And the two of you as well? Did you ever know them?” he asks, hope tinging his voice.

“They were _spies,_” Safiya says teasingly. “And now so is our sneaky little bird.”

Tua gives a single, solemn nod. “We didn’t cross paths with many others in the Rebellion, sadly,” he explains. “We worked out of Naboo—things were a little more lax on Naboo during the Empire, since it was—since this was the Emperor’s home world. I do not think we knew any Damerons,” he says, looking to his wife for confirmation.

“My mother went by her maiden name,” Poe offers. “Shara Bey.”

Tua and Iva both stiffen at the name, looking like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Shara…Bey?” Iva asks.

“Yeah, she was a pilot,” Poe says.

Iva puts a hand over her mouth, gathering herself. “Lieutenant Bey saved Naboo.”

“_What_?” Aviya asks, incredulous.

“After the Empire,” Tua begins, “the Emperor had some kind of contingency plan. He had installed satellites above Naboo, disrupting the climate. There were all kinds of natural disasters. Senator Organa came here, to aid Queen Soruna—and Lieutenant Bey came with her.”

“Lieutenant Bey destroyed the satellites,” Iva finishes, Poe’s eyes impossibly wide. “And then met up with us in Theed, to finish taking out the surviving Imperials who were hiding there.” She smiles at Poe. “Lieutenant Bey was so brave, and so kind. We talked about how we both had children, and we were fighting for them. I’ll never forget her. How is she nowadays?”

Poe swallows hard. “She died when I was eight, ma’am.”

Aviya puts her hand on Poe’s thigh under the table, rubbing it soothingly.

“Oh, my,” Iva says. “I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, I—excuse me.” Poe gets up, jostling the table in the process, and leaves the room, Aviya immediately standing up, worry evident on her face, to follow behind.

“I’m okay,” Poe says as soon as she enters the living room—he’s standing behind an armchair, holding on to the back of it, his head bowed.

Aviya moves next to him, rubbing circles into his back. “I know.”

He blinks back tears. “I just—I’ve never heard that story before.”

She smiles. “Me either.”

“And just—fuck, I miss her. Even now.”

“Of course you do, my love.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats, and he sniffs, and Aviya pushes herself in front of him, and he lets her in between his arms. She reaches up and tenderly wipes his tears away with her thumbs, then strokes the stubble on his jaw.

“I’m glad you got to hear that story,” she says gently.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I wish I was going to meet her in a few days, too,” she adds.

Poe moves his hands to her waist, dipping down to kiss her forehead. “Me too, sweetheart,” he whispers against her temple. “Me, too.”

\--

“Ugh.” Aviya turns her face away from him. “Bantha breath,” she teases.

In response, Poe pushes his face into the back of her head, kissing her hair.

“We have to get ready for breakfast,” Aviya says, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

“Get…ready…for breakfast?” Poe asks, drowsy and confused.

“Yeah, we have to get dressed, I have to do my hair—though I’m sure Mamá will just redo it later. You should wear that green shirt,” she suggests. “And put some of that good smelling stuff in your hair.”

“For…breakfast?” Poe repeats stupidly. At home, he rarely even put a shirt on to eat breakfast with his dad.

“I warned you,” she explained, “that they take _decorum _very seriously. I guess that’s what happens when you serve the queen for so many years.” She rolls her eyes.

\--

“Wow,” Aviya says, taking in Poe. “You look _so _handsome in Naboo clothes.”

“I know.” She rolls her eyes, and he gestures at her. “Look who’s talking.”

She spins, the light fabric of her dress fanning out around her.

“Wow. So pretty. I’m not used to seeing you like this.”

“Pretty?” she asks, eyebrows raised, and Poe splutters.

“What? No. I meant—I meant, in a dress like—you are always _beautiful_,” he says, which feels like a drastic understatement, but she’s laughing, and he knows she was teasing him—relentlessly, as always.

\--

“You swear like a _pilot_, little bird,” Iva scolds, and Aviya and Poe both blush.

\--

Aviya emerges from another room with her mother, and Poe cocks his head, analyzing her new hairstyle.

She had explained once that her mother was a queen’s handmaiden, and always did the queen’s hair and that of the other handmaidens, and so she enjoyed styling her daughters’ hair in elaborate, traditional ways.

“How am I supposed to undo _that_ tonight?” he wonders aloud, and Zidan fixes his eyes on Poe.

“You undo her hair at night?” he asks, brow raised.

Poe nods. He’s been undoing her simple, utilitarian braids for months in the dark of his quarters.

“That’s… that’s a big deal,” Zidan says.

Poe then understands why Aviya had trembled the first several times he had done it, but he knows that he wants to do it every night for the rest of his life.

\--

“Little bird,” he muses, repeating the nickname he’s heard from her family, untangling one of her many braids and ribbons, his hands so gentle, the moment so intimate. 

He puts one his hands on her shoulder, unsure about the much more complicated hairstyle, rubbing the back of her neck with his thumb.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No, I’m okay.” He can feel the smile in her voice, and she relaxes.

\--

This day at the lake is going to finish him, Poe is sure of it.

Sure, he’s seen _all _of Aviya’s skin before. Memorized it.

But not here, glowing in the sun, splashing in the water, her head tilted back in laughter. He has never seen anyone so radiant, anyone so beautiful.

What’s going to finish Aviya is Poe standing in the water across from Rylan, each of them taking turns throwing Yanna into the water, the little girl giggling with complete glee as she swims up to a bare-chested Poe, begging “again, again!”

A while later, Poe walks up the beach, and Ro, crawling unsteadily on the sand, loses his balance and rolls onto his back. Before the baby can even cry at the realization that he’s no longer upright, Poe scoops him up and holds him close, cooing softly at the infant.

A few feet away, Aviya, sunbathing with her sisters, throws her arm over her eyes with a groan.

“That too much for you, little bird?” Laiyla teases.

“I think our children have found their _Tio_,” Safiya says. “If their _Tia _doesn’t self-combust from _lust._”

“_Oh, Poe_, _yes, yes_!” Laiyla mimics.

Aviya reaches out with her foot and kicks at whoever she can reach, and up the beach, Poe grins at her, brilliantly, his skin shining from the sun and the lake water.

_Fuck_, she thinks.

\--

Laiyla stands at the counter, cutting up melon, and Aviya reaches over to grab a piece.

Without warning, Laiyla spins, and presses her knife against Aviya’s throat.

With a shout, Poe jumps up from his chair, knocking it over in the process. Aviya and Laiyla are a flurry of brightly colored skirts, and before Poe can interfere, Aviya is sitting on Laiyla’s chest, the knife now pressed against her oldest sister’s throat.

“You thought I would get _worse _after joining the Navy?” Aviya asks.

“I hoped you would have something new to show me,” Laiyla shrugs as Aviya moves off of her and helps her up.

Poe looks between them, open-mouthed, and then collapses back into his chair. “_Kriff._”

(It suddenly makes sense, now, the first time they met—they were set to spar against each other, and Aviya took him down in a matter of seconds. As he laid underneath her, he could only look up at her—much smaller and much newer than him—and ask “how?” to which she had replied, with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, “I have two older sisters.”)

“This family keeps you on your toes,” Rylan commiserates, patting Poe on the shoulder.

“She was always the best at hand-to-hand combat,” Tua says proudly.

“Yeah, Papá, that’s why she joined the Navy of the _whole_ Republic,” Laiyla says.

“Best with a blaster, too,” Aviya points out, and Laiyla rolls her eyes.

“_That _is contested.”

“Want to contest it now?” Aviya asks, eyebrows raised.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Tua says. “We don’t want Mr. Dameron here to have a heart attack.”

\--

“How old is Poe?” Zidan asks curiously.

“Twenty-one,” Aviya answers. “And already one of the best pilots in Navy.”

“In the _whole _Republic Navy?” Zidan asks, cynical.

“Yes. You should see him in an x-wing,” she says dreamily.

“Ugh,” he says, looking at her mooning. “No thank you.”

\--

After lunch, Poe and Zidan disappear for a few hours, and when they come back, Poe stands in front of Aviya, looking awfully nervous.

“I, um.” He rubs the back of his head. “I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” 

He looks sheepish, and she cocks her head to look at him with intent curiosity.

“They call you ‘little bird’,” he says matter-of-factly, and she nods in confirmation. “And there’s… Avi Birds. Here.” 

She nods again, and he blushes, embarrassed to be reduced to monosyllables and stupidity, but she turns him to jelly.

“I, uh. I did something?” he says, sounding unsure.

She furrows her brow a little, almost afraid to ask, knowing him. “What…what did you do?”

He reaches for the neck of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal a black tattoo over his heart. 

“It’s—"

“An Avi Bird,” she says, hushed and incredulous, reaching out to lightly touch it, and the brush of her fingertips makes his heart skip a beat or seven. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Um. Do you like it?”

“Poe?” she asks.

“It’s for you,” he whispers, and it feels obvious, but she seems—overwhelmed.

“It—yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He drops his hand from his collar, and a glimmer of disappointment shoots through Aviya’s stomach now that she can no longer see the tattoo. She wanted to look at for the rest of her life. For her! He got a tattoo! Over his heart! Permanent! For her!

She’s giddy and lightheaded as he steps closer to her. And closer, until they’re toe-to-toe and she has to force her eyes up, to look up at him, and his eyes—they’re too much. There’s too much tenderness in them, too much intensity in the way he’s looking at her, and she can’t stand it.

“Aviya,” he says quietly, reverently like a prayer, reaching up to cup her face in his hands.

“P-Poe.”

She can’t help the tears in her eyes, and he smooths his thumbs over her cheeks, and leans in to kiss her, sweet and gentle and delicate, finding all of the familiar contours of her mouth.

They pull apart, breathless, foreheads still pressed against each other.

“I love you,” Poe says, and even those all-important words somehow don’t seem deep enough. “Do you know that?”

“I know,” she breathes, lightheaded. “I know.”

Poe leans back a little, looking out, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“You weren’t wrong about the sunsets over the lake,” he says.

“I am not wrong about many things.”

\--

When he looks over at her, her eyes are closed, her head leaning back against the wall of the transport, and something twinges in Poe’s chest.

“Avi?” he asks, unsure. “You okay? Did you—you could have stayed with your family,” he says, reaching for her hand, to stroke her thumb with his own.

(It was so selfish of him, to give her only four days with her family on her first furlough in a year—her first year, just because he wanted to drag her to spend three days with Kes Dameron.)

“No, _no_,” she says, shaking her head. “I am so excited to meet your father. I’m just…” she shrugs. “Just tired. We’ve done a lot of traveling.”

He exhales, relieved that he hasn’t caused her sadness.

“Come here,” he says, wrapping his arm around her, curling her into his chest, almost protectively. “We still have a few hours,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head. “Sleep, my love.”

\--

Kes Dameron and his son embrace enthusiastically, clapping each other on the back. Aviya is a bit worried that they might topple over from the force of their greeting.

“Aviya!” Kes shouts as he pulls away from Poe, his arms outstretched. Aviya can’t help but to run into them, giggling, and Kes squeezes her tight, fatherly, making her feel safe and warm and right at home. His eyes and smile are the same as Poe’s, and she grins so wide her cheeks hurt.

Poe could explode with happiness at watching his two favorite people in the universe embrace.

\--

He doesn’t have words for how she makes him feel on Yavin.

He thought he was seeing her—the real Aviya—on Naboo, in flowing dresses and elaborate hairstyles, with her parents and sisters. But here, on Yavin, she’s wearing leggings and one of his shirts as a tunic, sleeves rolled up, her hair only half tied up with a ribbon, loose around her shoulders, her skin is tan from the Naboo sun and glowing from the Yavinese humidity, and she’s just sitting outside, talking with Kes and smiling and he is _undone_.

“So, what’s going on in the world of Republic espionage?” Kes asks Aviya.

“Not much, for a first year,” she sighs. “I did track down some spice runners last week,” she says, looking pointedly at Poe, who kicks her shin under the table.

“Her parents knew Mom,” Poe says suddenly, whether to distract attention from the ‘spice runner’ comment or because it’s been at the forefront of his mind since before their arrival.

“Really?” Kes asks.

“She saved Naboo. She saved my _whole planet_,” Aviya says, in awe.

Kes smiles. “Shara was like that.”

“Mom and Aviya’s parents got the Imps out of Naboo,” Poe continues. “And they remembered her. Remembered her talking about me.”

Kes looks far away. “That’s…that’s amazing. She was amazing.” He seems to come back, a little. “And your parents, Aviya? They’re well?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And you have sisters?”

She nods. “Two, and two brothers-in-law, and a niece and a nephew.”

“Wow.” Kes smiles. “Big family. And they served the queen of Naboo and the Rebellion? Impressive.”

“I ate with more silverware at one meal than we own,” Poe says, “but I also watched Aves and her sister get into a knife fight, so.” He shrugs, looking at Aviya with mischief in his eyes. “Weird. Explains a lot about this one.”

Aviya sticks her tongue out at Poe. “Nerfherder.”

\--

He lets them share a room because, well, Kes Dameron has never worked for a queen.

“No braids,” Poe muses, disappointed, as he sits behind her on the bed.

She shakes her head, reaching up to untie the ribbon holding part of her hair back, but Poe’s hands on her wrists stop her.

“Let me. Please,” he says, untying it himself. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders, down to her waist, impossibly soft and gently curly, and Poe can’t help but run his fingers through it, careful of any tangles.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t do _that_,” she says, eyes closed in pleasure.

He nods, carefully working his hands through the knots, occasionally rubbing her scalp or her neck or her back, and she honest-to-gods _purrs _under his hands, and, _kriff_, his dad is sleeping one room over.

So, instead, he wraps his arms around her, smoothing her hair out of the way so that he can press his face into her neck, pressing hot, open mouth kisses he hopes are comforting into her skin.

She can feel the heat from his bare chest through her thin tank top, and she sighs, leaning up against him, moving her small hands to hold his large, calloused ones.

“Don’t let go,” she whispers, and he glides his nose over her ear in response.

“Never.”

\--

Aviya walks with Kes, learning about all of the farmland and the life he keeps up on Yavin IV.

“Are you lonely?” she blurts out suddenly, then covers her mouth in embarrassment.

He smiles fondly at her. “Lonely?”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay, Aviya.”

“It’s just that my parents never wanted me to leave, and they have each other and my sisters and their families, and I—it was just you and Poe, and now it’s just you.”

“I do miss him,” Kes says. “But I always knew he would only be happy in a cockpit.”

Aviya nods. “That’s true. He was made for it.”

“It can be lonely, a life like that.” Kes smiles. “I’m glad that his is not.”

\--

Aviya sitting under the Force Tree is somehow everything Poe could have ever imagined and also so much more.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly, sitting next to her.

“I love it here,” she shrugs. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He takes her wrist in reply, feeling her pulse under his fingers, insistent and alive.

“This is a Force Tree,” he explains after a moment. “It was a gift to my parents, from Luke Skywalker.”

Her eyes widen at the mention of the legendary name. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Your parents…they did so much for this galaxy.”

“It’s a lot to live up to.”

“You’re doing a fine job so far, sir.” She leans her head on his shoulder. “You make it so easy to love you.”

“There’s something I want—something I need to show you,” Poe tells her, sliding his fingers down to tangle with hers.

She follows, the tight grip he has on her hand communicating that whatever this is, it is deeply important.

He opens the barn doors to reveal an old A-wing, one that looks like it’s been gathering dust—probably since Poe was last home.

“This was my mom’s,” he says, putting his hand on the cool metal of the ship. “She taught me how to fly in this thing—I would sit in her lap, and we would—” He bows his head, emotion choking at his voice, unable to continue.

Aviya closes the few steps of distance between them, putting a hand on Poe’s waist, rubbing his side soothingly.

“I’m okay,” he says.

“My whole planet,” Aviya says, still juggling with the story she’d been told of Shara Bey. “She saved my whole kriffing planet.”

“She was the best pilot ever,” Poe says, leaving no room for argument. “And the best Mom.”

Poe puts his hand on her upper arm, pushing her sideways so that she stands in front of him, pinned between his body and the A-wing. Aviya reaches out and puts her hands on his chest, then slides them up to his face, wiping away a tear sliding down his cheek.

“Thank you for showing me this,” she says, “for telling me about her.” He nods, and she tangles a hand in his hair, weaving her fingers into his curls, tugging gently. “I love you, you know. _I love you_.”

“You have no idea, little bird.”

She scrunches her nose. “Don’t call me that. My _parents _call me that.”

He smiles, chuckling softly. “I love you— my darling, my heart, my life.”

She scrunches her nose again, and it’s so adorable that all he can do is kiss it.

“Dramatic,” she scolds. 

“Most people would call that _sweet_."

\--

“Dad, I, um.” Poe clears his throat. “I want to give her mom’s ring.”

“Here, son.”

Kes immediately pulls the ring out of his pocket and presses it into Poe’s hand, and Poe is a speechless for a moment.

“How—”

Kes shakes his head. “I was getting afraid you weren’t going to ask for it before you left. I was going to give it to you anyway, because that girl—that girl is the _one_.”

\--

“Marry me. Please.”

He was supposed to wait—he was going to get the ring while they were on Yavin, take it back to Hosnian Prime, and propose there. He was going to make sure it was special, magical. The right moment.

He was going to give some grand speech, about how wonderful she is, how much she means to him, the life he wants to live, her always by his side.

But he can’t wait anymore, and the words just come tumbling out as they make breakfast in his dad’s kitchen, hours before a transport will take them back to base.

She freezes, looking at him like maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Aves?” he asks, voice small, and she turns to him with wide dark eyes.

“You’re—really?” She’s trying very, very hard not to cry until she knows that he really meant to ask her, but tears are evident in her voice and he moves slowly, unsure.

He pulls his mother’s ring from his pocket and shows it to her.

“It was Mom’s,” he explains.

“You want to marry me?” she whispers, and he closes the distance between them, pins them up against the counter, takes her chin in his fingers and looks into her eyes, the terrified feeling that had been in his stomach moments before replaced by a steady sureness.

“More than I could ever want anything in the galaxy,” he says. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Aviya Rimaro. I—gods, I love you.”

She is crying now, earnestly, and he pulls her to his chest.

“Will you please marry me?” he asks softly, gently.

“Yes, Poe. Oh, gods, yes!”

“Oh, good,” he says, relieved.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had worse, she almost wants to say, but that is never, never the right thing—not with the helpless way Poe is looking at her now, not when she will never forget the look on his face when she woke up in a hospital bed after, she was told, days of a machine breathing for her.
> 
> \--
> 
> Aviya's mission takes a turn for the worse, and then, so does she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a few months before the novel Before the Awakening—Poe really hates the First Order and hates that the Republic isn’t doing enough to fight them—other than his ideals, what could possibly make Poe so angry about it? 
> 
> Warning: this is very long, and very sad. But there’s a happy ending, obviously!

_\--_

_I’ve had worse, she almost wants to say, but that is never, never the right thing—not with the helpless way Poe is looking at her now, not when she will never forget the look on his face when she woke up in a hospital bed after, she was told, days of a machine breathing for her._

_\--_

_Let me die, _Aviya thinks. _Gods_, _just let me die, please just let me die._

It echoes in her head, in the refrain that’s been in place for—days, maybe, or weeks or months or years or eternity, all that she knows is her cheek pressed into hard ground.

_Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Hurts. Let me die. Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Hurts. Let me die._

She isn’t so thirsty or hungry anymore though, and even the pain is starting to fade. None of that is a good sign.

The only other thing she’s able to think about is Poe—his dark eyes locked on hers with too much tenderness, his curly hair wrapped in her fingers, the way all of the nicknames he has for her sound from his mouth, the way he looks climbing out of a cockpit. The way he wraps her in his arms at night—warm and safe. Two things she is not. Two things she has not been for a long time.

_Poe. Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Hurts. Let me die. Poe. Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Hurts. Let me die. Poe._

Did he know she was missing? Was she was supposed to be back by now, had he realized?

_Poe. Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Hurts. Let me die. Poe. Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Hurts. Let me die. Poe._

Her grasp on him is slipping. His face is blurry. His voice is distorted. He is no longer grounding her to the rough floor under her face. Instead, she just feels cold and heavy.

_I’m sorry, Poe. Let me die. I’m so sorry. Let me die. _

“Commander Dameron!” comes a voice, suddenly, that she knows is familiar, and she knows is out of place. But she doesn’t know why—only knows that she is being lifted, and the pain is overwhelming, and then the world is black.

\--

As Poe banks into the hangar, BB-8 chirps happily, and Poe feels just like the droid sounds.

“That’s right,” Poe says. “Avi should be back and waiting for us, and so should lunch.” BB-8 beeps again, and Poe smiles. “Yeah, buddy, I missed her, too."

When Poe climbs out of his cockpit, there’s a cadet waiting for him, looking worried. 

“Commander Dameron,” he says, “you’re needed. Urgently.”

Well, that can’t be good.

“In the infirmary,” the cadet continues. “It’s…the other Commander Dameron. She’s in bad shape.” 

That’s all he needs to hear, to take off running across the base. 

Before he can see her, he sees Jiya Prev and Evran Ozzek, her captain and lieutenant, sitting at the end of a bed, heads bent. Poe barrels into the room, his helmet in his hands and his heart in his throat.

She is so still—so pale, her dull skin even lighter than Poe’s, dark purple circles under her closed eyes, her cheeks hollow, her lips cracked and split, and brightly colored bruises blooming on her face and arms.

“What—” he rushes to touch her, to look at the rise and fall of her chest—and she is so cold, her breaths so shallow. 

“There _are_ slave traders on Tyrann,” Jiya says hollowly. “They captured her. Maybe they were going to sell her,” she shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“How long?” Poe demands, and he can see Ozzek swallow hard.

“Five days,” he answers, and at that, Poe can’t tell if he is more overwhelmed with rage or devastation.

“Five…days?” 

“She wasn’t communicating with us,” Jiya rushes to explain. “She does that, you know, turns off her commlink while she works. We thought—”

“After a couple of days, we knew something was wrong,” Ozzek continues. “We found her yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday morning?” Poe’s voice cracks. “And she’s—”

“Dehydrated, malnourished, hypothermic, bruised,” Ozzek lists off, like it’s a supply list and not a list of words that are going to tear Poe’s guts out. 

“She hasn’t woken up yet,” Jiya says quietly, and Poe has to grab the rails of Aviya’s bed to keep from collapsing.

“Well. Thank you for staying with her until I got back,” Poe says, a clear dismissal. 

The two officers nod and exit, and Poe drops into the chair next to her, laying his head on her chest and feeling like he’s made of a black hole. 

\--

When she wakes up, the world is white.

Her eyelids weigh more than an X-wing, and it takes every ounce of strength she has to open them, slowly and gradually.

“Aviya?”

His voice sounds like relief. She can feel his hand on hers, feel it tighten.

She opens her mouth and her own throat cracks dry like it’s coated in sand, but she manages to choke out a soft, “Poe.”

“_Gods_,” is all he says as he leans forward to kiss her shoulder.

“What—”

She doesn’t need to finish the question because he knows, he knows _her _more than anyone ever could, after so many years and so much.

“Confirmed the presence of slave traders on Tyrann,” he answers, spitting it out with a Star Destroyer’s worth of venom.

“How—”

“They got you—for five days,” he says, and his voice is strained. “But Jiya and Ozzek brought you back—back to me.”

There’s something else she needs to tell him, but she can’t remember what it is, because as he talks, it gets harder for her to take in each breath, like something is stopping them short. 

“They brought you back yesterday, and, they say you’re dehydrated and malnourished and banged up, but it’s nothing they can’t fix in a couple of days. Jiya and Ozzek say you look a lot better today than when they found you, which, _gods_, no offense, but…”

She normally loves his rambling, the way it sometimes feels as if he is physically incapable of not speaking, the way he turns it into leadership and inspiration and care, the way she can tell it’s because he was so _scared _that all he can do is be Republic Commander Dameron with mission updates, but her lungs are on fire, and whatever he is saying is so much quieter than the burning in her chest.

“Poe,” she manages to choke out, but he’s so caught up in this, just stroking her hand.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, kriff I can’t even—”

The edges of the world are fading and she can’t hear him anymore, can only think about how much it hurts and she tries one more, desperate time.

If this is her last word, it’s the best one she could ever hope for.

“_Poe_.”

He sees it, then, jumps up from the chair beside her and starts screaming.

“Help! Help her! Help!”

_I should have died on Tyrann_, she thinks. _This is so much worse, to make him watch._

And the world is black and silent.

\--

An infection, they tell him, finally, after rushing him out of the room to where he can still hear them, hear them shouting at each other and machines beeping and _holy fuck, she’s really going to die, isn’t she, I’m going to lose her, I’m going to lose my whole fucking everything right here in this med bay. _

An infection from the cold and the damp and the neglect is filling up her lungs with fluid, and he wants to put his hands around the medics’ throats and squeeze, watch _them_ struggle for breath, because they missed it when they examined her yesterday, and now she’s—now she has so many tubes and wires and a machine next to her that whispers _hiss, hiss _in a rhythm he can’t banish from his bones because it is her breath, being breathed by a machine and the universe or the gods or the Force or _something _is cruel and why can’t they just take his breath and give it to her because he doesn’t need it, he isn’t using it if she is like this.

Sunk into the chair next to her, he’s never felt this defeated, this helpless. He lets himself slump over, laying across her legs (one of the only places on her body not encumbered by machinery and tubes), and sobs.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not ever.

“Come back to me, Aves. You have to come back to me. My darling, my heart, my life. You have to come back to me.”

\--

Poe hears Karé Kun before he sees her, debating with a medic.

“Oh, no, I’m going in,” she says, and she turns the corner into the room, BB-8 on her heels.

When she sees Aviya, she freezes—Karé may be Poe’s lieutenant, but she’s Aviya’s best friend.

“Oh my gods,” she says, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Poe can only nod, eyes rimmed with red, curls tangled from how many times he’s run his hands through them in desperation.

BB-8 rolls over to Poe, beeping sadly, and Poe puts a hand on his droid’s head with a deep sigh. With a chirp, BB-8 starts asking the medical droid stationed next to Aviya about her condition, and Poe can’t handle hearing about all of it again, not even in binary, and when the medical droid says, devoid of any emotion, “status: alive, but critical, prognosis: unclear,” Poe shakes his head.

“Stop! Shut up! Just stop!”

BB-8 drops his head, beeping apologetically, and Poe pets him.

“I’m sorry, buddy, I just—I can’t right now.”

Karé moves closer to Poe, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’ll get better, Poe. You know she will. She’s so strong.”

“She better,” Poe says hoarsely. “Because I am _not_ that strong.”

Karé nods knowingly. “Have you called her parents? Kes?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to?” she offers. “If you don’t want to…have to say…all of that.”

Poe shakes his head. “No. It needs to be me.” He rubs his face, feeling one hundred years old. “I, um…I guess I should tell her parents first.”

Karé shrugs. “There’s no harm in telling Kes first. If it will…help you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think…Yeah.”

“Do you want me to stay? Or,” she looks back at Aviya, trying to fight back tears, “wait outside?”

“I—” Poe takes a deep, shaky breath. “If you could wait?”

“Absolutely.”

She rubs his arm and walks out of the room, touching Aviya’s foot gently on the way out, beckoning BB-8 to follow her.

Poe takes his commlink out, staring at it for a moment. Even rehearsing the words in his head feels like a thousand-pound weight on his chest. He looks over at Aviya, taking her hand in his, kissing her thumb.

“Poe!” Kes greets enthusiastically, and that, somehow, is already too much.

Poe just lets out some sort of choked noise, falling back onto the bed.

“Poe?” Kes asks. “What is it, son? What’s wrong?”

“Aviya,” he manages to get out. “It’s Ave.”

“Oh, gods. What happened?”

“She’s—it’s not good. She got captured, and she has some sort of infection, and—” he sucks in a deep breath, holding tighter to one of Aviya’s legs. “There’s a machine breathing for her, Dad.”

“Kriff.”

“I don’t know if she’s gonna live,” Poe admits, a sob escaping his throat. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, son,” Kes breathes. “I’ll be on the first transport out there.”

Poe nods. “Thanks, Dad. I—” he shuts his eyes. “I have to call her parents.”

“Okay.” The tears are now evident in Kes’ voice as well. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I can’t lose her,” Poe says abruptly. “I can’t, Dad.”

He’s thinking about his mother, and he knows Kes is, too.

“I know, son.” Kes takes a deep breath. “It’s—”

Well, it was the worst pain Kes had ever felt. But, losing Aviya would be losing a child, and watching his child go through the worst pain of his life—and that seemed infinitely worse.

“I’ll be there soon,” Kes repeats.

After he hangs up with his dad, Poe just holds the commlink in his hand, looking at it. He has no idea how to call the Rimaros and tell them this.

“Avi,” he says, ghosting over her fingertips, the only part of her hand still exposed. “Avi, I—” he takes a deep breath. He has to keep himself together, has to make this phone call—it isn’t fair to make them wait.

“Poe Dameron,” Tua Rimaro answers good-naturedly.

Poe braces himself—he just has to say this out loud one more time.

“Aviya, uh—”

“That’s hospital beeping, isn’t it?” Tua asks somberly.

“Yeah, it is. She, uh—” his voice cracks.

“How bad is it, son?”

“_Bad_,” is all he manages to say. The less Poe has to speak, the better; the med team can fill the Rimaros in when they arrive, because Poe doesn’t think he can do anything but cry right now.

Tua sighs. “We’ll be there soon.”

\--

Karé carries dinner in, holding the bag aloft.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

Poe shakes his head. “No.”

Karé nods. She looks over at Aviya, watches the steady, machine-induced rise and fall of her chest.

“What the hell happened?” she asks suddenly. “Where was her team?”

“Apparently she turned her commlink off,” Poe says. “I don’t know who let that happen, but—”

“She’s their Commander,” Karé reminds him. “And she and her husband both have a tendency to be a little reckless.”

“Normally, that would make me smile,” Poe acknowledges. “But I can’t today.”

Karé nods. “I understand.” 

\--

“Poe?” a voice asks the next morning, and he turns around in the chair.

“Iva.”

He moves to stand, but she holds up her hand to stop him, crossing the room. Iva looks at her daughter, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“You said it was bad, but—”

“Yeah,” Poe answers gruffly.

“The doctors told us. They—they would only let one of us in here at a time. Since you’re already in here.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

Iva puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know. As it should be.”

Poe nods, rubbing his eyes.

“You haven’t slept,” Iva observes.

“No. Of course not.” He sighs. “She looks a little better, if you can believe it.”

Iva reaches for Aviya’s fingertips. “My baby,” she whispers. She turns back to Poe. “Your father is here, as well. He flew in with us.”

Poe nods, torn. He wants to see his dad, wants Aviya’s parents to have time with her—but he doesn’t want to leave her side.

With a sigh, he finally stands. “I’ll send Tua in.”

Tua and Kes are both in the waiting room; Tua, standing placidly, hands clasped behind him, Kes, leaning against the wall. Karé is seated, filling them in on what details she can about the mission that landed them all here.

“Son,” Kes says, noticing him first.

Poe nods, then turns to Tua. “You can go in there, with Iva. I figured I’d—I’d give you two a few minutes.” _Only a few_, he hopes is clear.

Tua nods, disappearing through the doors to the rooms, and Karé stands, leaving in the opposite direction with a quick wave so that father and son are alone.

Kes walks forward and Poe collapses into his arms, exhausted and terrified and desperately sad.

“I’m here, son,” Kes assures him. “I’m here.”

\--

“I have good news,” a doctor says, stepping into the room.

Poe and Iva look up from their silent vigil—the three parents were taking turns sitting in the room, with Iva taking the longest shifts.

The doctor flips a screen on, pointing. “These are Commander Dameron’s lungs—the fluid is almost completely gone.”

Both Iva and Poe let out audible sighs of relief.

“This means that tomorrow morning, we can take her off the respirator.”

“R-really?” Iva asks.

The doctor nods. “However, Lady Rimaro—we are asking that only Commander Dameron be present, to avoid any overcrowding.”

Iva nods, always the picture of dignity. “Of course.”

\--

Poe sits, holding Aviya’s hand, waiting, as the doctor flips the machines off and disconnects the respirator’s tubes.

“Now, we’ll see if she wakes up,” the doctor says, checking her vitals on the monitor.

He says it cheerfully, but _we’ll see if she wakes up _is absolutely one of the worst sentences Poe has ever heard.

The doctor ducks out with a smile that’s meant to be reassuring, and Poe just sits there and looks at his wife, waiting, watching her chest rise and fall.

“Come on, Aves,” Poe urges. “Please wake up, sweetheart.”

Aviya’s eyes stay closed.

So Poe waits and watches.

And waits and watches.

At least now, respirator gone, Poe can see her face, can touch her cheek. He sings, a lullaby Shara Bey used to sing with him.

And Aviya’s eyes don’t open.

Instead, one of the machines starts beeping loudly, rapidly.

“Aviya?” Poe asks.

Her chest has stopped rising and falling. Her lips are turning blue.

“What’s happening?” Poe asks, jumping sideways off the bed, as doctors rush in and push him out of the way.

“You’ll have to go, Commander,” a nurse tells him. “She’s not breathing.”

Poe only backs up as far as the doorway, hanging on to the doorframe. He stands silently, frozen, hoping they don’t notice him and push him the rest of the way out.

_Not again, not again, not again, fuck. Gods, Force, universe, whoever—Mom—don’t take her away. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. _

He feels transported, suddenly, to age eight, in the doorway of another hospital room, while another dark-haired woman fought for her life. He remembers the beeping, the doctors rushing around, holding onto the metal doorframe even as his father tries to push him out of the room. Shara Bey lost her fight that day, Kes Dameron standing wordless as Poe sat next to his mother’s still body and begged her to come back.

It was the worst day of Poe’s life, and if this day has the same outcome, he doesn’t think—no, he knows—he will not be able to handle it.

“Put her back on the respirator!” is one of the few things the doctors shout that Poe understands, and it yanks him back into the present.

He watches as they put the mask back on, hook all of the tubes and wires back up.

And the machine starts beeping steadily again.

“What the fuck happened?” Poe chokes out as all of the doctors back away slightly, no longer as frantic and frenzied.

“The fluid came back,” one of the doctors explains. “I don’t know exactly why—we’ll use stronger antibiotics now, stronger oxygen therapy.”

\--

The next two days pass in mind-numbing monotony. They take turns sitting, waiting, talking. Karé comes in and out, bringing food and clean clothes, updating him on Rapier Squadron.

At the end of the second day, the doctors inform the family of their plan to spend the next three days attempting to wean Aviya off of the respirator—rather than simply turning it off all at once, the way that had gone so poorly before.

Poe falls asleep that night, as he has every night for the past week, sitting in the chair, leaned over on the bed with his head up against Aviya’s thigh.

\--

“She’s doing well so far,” Iva observes brightly, with Aviya only relying thirty percent on the respirator. “The doctors seem hopeful.”

Poe nods. “Thank gods.”

“Have you thought about…” Iva chooses her words carefully. “Her recovery?”

“What do you mean?”

Poe wishes the Rimaros spoke plainly, the way he and Kes did.

“We—her father and I—think that it might be good for her to come back to Naboo for a while. You know, the fresh air, royal doctors, many willing bedside nurses. For the both of you to come, of course.”

Poe can’t help but smile at the thought of Aviya’s certain reaction to this plan (the way she would react behind closed doors, of course—not the diplomatic response she would surely give her mother).

“She won’t, you know.” He shakes his head. “I’m sure she _should_. But even if I try to convince her—she’s just going to jump back into _this_. Especially now that she knows that there are sla—” he catches himself before he gives away classified information. “That the people who did this to her are out there, doing this to others. She won’t let them.”

“That is noble, of course, but…” Iva searches for the diplomatic phrasing, again. “Unwise.”

Poe chuckles. “Probably. But that’s my—_our_—Aves.”

“I think you may have rubbed off on her, Commander,” Iva says, the bitterness behind her words coming out more than she intends.

“Not as much as you would think. But you are right. That could be the Commander Dameron motto—noble, but stupid.”

“I did _not _say stupid.”

Poe grins in a way he hopes is reassuring. “I’m going to take care of her, you know. Very good care of her.”

Iva nods. “I know.” She strokes Aviya’s arm. “My noble little bird.”

\--

Poe’s chest is nothing but a mass of anxious knots.

Aviya had spent hours with the respirator turned down to five percent—then two. There was no sign of fluid buildup, no drop in oxygen saturation. Finally, the doctors had turned the machine down to zero percent, then removed it, and stopped the drugs that kept her asleep.

Poe sits on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side, his torso turned to face her, an arm braced on either side of her. He’s singing his mother’s lullaby again, waiting and watching again.

Her chest keeps rising and falling, rising and falling.

And then her eyes start to flutter.

“Aviya,” he breathes.

It takes her eyes a moment to focus on him, and the look on his face—impossibly helpless, lined with worry, unshaven, dark circles under red-rimmed eyes, hair wild—reminds her that she was lying on the ground in a cell in Tyrann, waiting to die.

She must have lived.

“Poe,” she tries to say, but it comes out more of a breathy exhale. She finds that her throat doesn’t quite work.

“Don’t try to talk,” he says, and he’s crying, hand coming to his mouth to stifle sobs. “Oh, gods, I thought you weren’t going to come back to me. My love, my—my everything.”

It takes a vast amount of effort, but she’s able to move her fingertips to meet his. _I’m here_.

“I really missed you, sweetheart,” he says, still crying. “We all did—everyone’s here—my dad, your parents. Karé and BB-8.”

Why was everyone here? How was everyone here?

Her questions must show on her face, because he reaches out to stroke her cheek. “It’s been days,” he explains. “The longest goddamn eight days of my life.”

“Eight?” she whispers.

“A machine was breathing for you, baby,” he explains, and he knows the _hiss, hiss _is going to haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

“What?”

“You had an infection, you—from whatever those slave traders did to you on Tyrann.”

“It was the First Order.”

She whispers it, and it’s hoarse and shaky, but it’s clear.

“_What_?”

“The First Order,” she repeats.

“Those fucking—Imperial wannabes?”

She nods.

“The fucking Imperial wannabes the fucking Navy keeps telling us that we can’t do a kriffing thing about?”

She nods again, and by the Force, Poe’s insides are about to explode in a ball of fire he’s so angry.

“The karking First Order imprisoned and starved and beat and almost kriffing killed my wife—an officer of the Republic Navy—and we’ve been sitting on our hands and just letting them have their own fucking corner of the galaxy?”

Aviya waits patiently.

“We have to brief—everyone. Major Deso—the karking _Senate_.”

“Poe,” she whispers.

He looks back down at her, and comes back to himself—comes back to the fact that she’s alive and awake and talking to him after _eight kriffing days _where he thought he was never going to see her again.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says. “Gods, Force, I can’t live without you, I—I love you.”

Feeling a little stronger, she grasps his wrist. “Come here,” she whispers.

“What?” He leans down, moving his ear closer to her mouth so he can hear what she’s going to say.

Suddenly, she picks her head up and kisses him on the cheek. He lets out a soft noise of surprise, looking at her smug smile.

“You,” he says softly, full of tenderness.

“I love you, too.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was very long and very sad and…I’m sorry? This idea and, honestly, the first quarter or so of this have been sitting around for…a while. 
> 
> You can probably expect more in the near future, as I am finding that I suddenly have… a lot of time on my hands. Do we want more angst? More happiness? Let me know!
> 
> (ALSO bonus points if you recognize where I got the ending from? Hint: it’s my favorite currently airing TV show)


End file.
